Publisher: Ellora’s Cave
Length: 139 pages
Sub-Genres: Paranormal, Shifter
I have Danica Avet in the ehome today. Look at that cover. Very nice. Danica’s sharing her latest release, Primal Song, the blurb and the excerpt, and there’s a bit about Danica below. I also got Danica to share a bit about her writing habits. I don’t know about you, but her routine sounds pretty similar to mine. Interesting.
Take it away, Danica.
Danica’s Writing Habit
For me, writing isn’t something I can just decide to do. As much as I try to keep to a routine, sometimes writing doesn’t happen the way I want it to. I won’t go so far as to say it’s all about the muse, but it’s close. I have to have the right mindset, the right characters, and the right music. I have to have a spark for my brain to get where it needs to be to put words to paper.
I do try to write every day, but if I’m not feeling the story, or I’m distracted by “real life”, it won’t happen. But in order to get in the mood, I have a certain set of things I need to do.
First off, I have to think about the story before I sit in front of the keyboard. I have to think about my characters, where their minds are and what they’ve just gone through.
Then, I let those thoughts simmer. I’m a big believer in using mundane things to let a story stew. I’ll play Angry Birds, or Words with Friends. I’ll surf the internet, check emails and Facebook, all the while I have the characters simmering in my brain.
When I’ve exhausted all of my delaying tactics, I get out my MP3 player and queue up the right kind of music to get me in the writing mood. Most of the time, it’s hard rock and I have a playlist I adore that makes me think of raw, hot sex. Perfect for an erotic romance book
Once the pre-writing routine is finished, I start writing. Sometimes I go back over what I’ve already written, tweak this, tweak that, replace this word, or delete that scene. Then I dive in. Sometimes it’s like magic. I’m not even really thinking about the story sometimes. I let the characters drive the plot, the time I spent thinking about them helping me with their mannerisms, how they react, and when I’m in the groove, I’ll churn out massive word counts.
Funny thing is, this routine happens whether I’m just starting a story, or I’m halfway through one. It’s the same thing every time and it works for me. When I get stuck, I walk away from the book rather than pound out words that I’ll delete later. It has to be a creative element for me, or it feels too much like work.
Deputy Daisy Picou is not impressed when Ram Reinhardt prowls into town all rock star swagger and big cat ego. She’s been burned by a lion before and has no intention of playing the fool twice. But with one scorching glance the mating frenzy ignites and passion trumps reason. An intense first encounter levels Daisy’s reservations—and most of her living room. And she’s not so sure she minds.
Ram Reinhardt has burned through and brushed aside just about every adrenaline-inducing thrill life’s thrown at him. But Daisy sets the gold standard for a premium rush. Her combative personality should turn him off, but every time they fight they end up in bed, or on the floor, or against a wall—and the sex is always more combustible than the time before. And he’s not about to give that up. Ever.
Something banged on the front porch of the house, rousing her from her self-pity. It wasn’t a stealthy sound, but more like someone was trying to figure out how to get inside and didn’t care if anyone heard them.
Daisy pulled her service pistol out of the belt she’d left coiled on her nightstand. Some women kept lotions and sleeping masks or even books on their nightstands. Daisy left her gun and enough ammo to start a small war.
She climbed out of bed and toyed with the idea of getting dressed before she went to check on the noise, but another scraping sound prodded her into moving. She did throw a robe over her naked body and loosely tied it, not wanting to wave her girl parts at a potential burglar. Slipping through her house on silent feet, she wondered if one of the strangers in town had decided to try their luck at burglarizing a few houses. It was rare, but it did happen.
Adrenaline and a tinge of fear washed through her as she made her way in the direction of the sound. Those were definitely scraping, scratching sounds, as if someone was using a lock pick to open the door. Heart pounding in her chest, she eased to the window beside the front door and peeked out. And blinked.
There was a lion on her porch. A huge friggin’ beast with a thick, dark mane and the kind of fangs that belonged on the Discovery Channel. He had one paw on her front door and she watched in stunned disbelief as he tried picking her lock with one carefully extended claw.
The only lion shifter she was aware of in the area was the musician, but it made no sense for him to be here. What was he planning to do? Break in her house and sing at her? She bit back a snort. She wasn’t afraid of any big cat. Being a bear had its benefits, mainly that she outweighed most males in her animal form, but her bear wasn’t even fazed by this unexpected visit. In fact, it wanted to come out right now, not to attack, but to play. It thought the idea of a lion trying to break into their territory a great way to end the evening. Daisy sniffed deeply, drawing the scent of cat through the door and knew it was the musician. Beneath that wild, musky cat scent was a hint of the same male she’d been trying not to think about since she left the fairgrounds.
Shit. What was he doing here? She breathed deep again, trying to figure out his frame of mind. Was he pissed that she left the performance? She almost snorted at the thought. That would take listener satisfaction a little too far. But he smelled hot and agitated. Her head swam as something else filtered through her senses, making her body feel sluggish again.
Her lower body throbbed with want, her nipples tightened into near-painful points. She was getting turned-on. Seriously turned-on because she could feel dampness on her thighs as her moisture seeped from her channel.
He growled. The low, deep rumble sent a bolt of excitement straight to her clit and she gasped.
She reached for the door, not sure if she planned to tell him to get away, or invite him in. She wanted more than she ever had before, but he wasn’t what she needed, right? Only an idiot would open the door to a male who would use her and leave her. Apparently her horniness dropped her IQ by several points because she undid the lock and turned the knob.
But she’d waited too long and the lion had gotten tired of trying to pick the lock. The instant Daisy swung open the door, two paws landed on her chest, taking her to the floor.
The gun bounced out of her hand, sliding across the tile where it bumped up against the leg of a table. Five hundred pounds of big cat was a lot and it took a few minutes for Daisy to get her wind back. She wanted to curse when she did. If he was a serial stalker or something, she’d just lost her weapon and given him the dominant position. She was a fucking genius.
Hot, panting breath that carried the unmistakable scent of alcohol wafted over her face. Squinting against the hurricane of air, she saw the lion staring down at her with serious, yet slightly unfocused amber eyes.
“Get off of me,” she said calmly, even if part of her wanted to demand he shift and fuck her. Now.
He didn’t go away. In fact, he put his big paws to either side of her shoulders, effectively caging her in between his limbs. Her heart thundered as he lowered his head. Just when she thought he was ready to shift and take care of the need burning through her, he licked from her chin to her forehead, his rough tongue abrading her skin.
“Ew! That’s disgusting!” This was not what her pussy had hoped for when she opened the door.
She tried to roll away from him, but he caught her shoulder with his paw and ran his velvety muzzle along her cheek. The rumbling purr that vibrated from his chest rattled her bones. The coarse hair of his mane tickled her face and neck as he continued rubbing against her like a giant kitten.
His tongue snuck out, lapping at the side of her neck. It was one of her sensitive spots and she jumped with a giggle. Shit. She was supposed to be some badass cop and she was letting some strange cat tickle her.
“Stop it,” she ordered in a quivery voice he paid no mind to.
With his scent surrounding her, Daisy’s body heated until it felt as if she’d burst into flames. Her heart thumped. Oh God, she’d just spent hours talking herself out of doing something stupid like throwing herself at him and now he was in her house licking her. She panted as he went for the hypersensitive spot behind her ear.
Instinct demanded she participate in this madness. She reached up to the warm body hovering over her. The instant she touched his velvety coat, his fur faded away leaving nothing but warm, golden skin behind. Paws became hands on either side of her and the mane disappeared, but the slightly rough texture of his tongue remained as he came down on top of her.
“Oh God,” Daisy gasped when he tested her skin with his teeth.
She shook her head as the light coating of hair on his chest abraded her nipples, sending electric shocks straight to her aching core. “Huh?” she mumbled when his tongue danced over her collarbone.
“My name is Ram.”
“Uh-huh, do that again.”
His hot breath washed over her skin as he repeated the little love bite at the base of her throat. “I’d like to know your name in return,” he whispered against her skin.
Shivering from his erotic bite, Daisy whimpered her name. If he didn’t get this show on the road, she’d come without him and then she’d do as bears did and hibernate the rest of the night.
A big, hair-roughened knee slid between her thighs. Thighs that parted without any hesitation, making Daisy’s face burn with embarrassment. Was she so easy she’d just let some strange cat fuck her in the entryway of her home?
Danica Avet was born and raised in the wilds of South Louisiana where mosquitoes are big enough to carry off small children and there are only two seasons: hot and hotter. With a BA in History, she figured there were enough fry cooks in the world and decided to try her hand at writing.
Danica is the lucky pet of a compulsively needy dog and two cats. The pitter-patter of little feet has been known to make her break out into a cold sweat.
Writing is how she gives the voices in her head a way out. When she isn’t writing, working or contemplating the complexities of the universe, she spends time gathering inspiration from her insane family, reads far more than any sane person would want to, and watches hot burly men chase an oblong ball all over a field.
Thank you, Danica, for sharing about how you write and for sharing Primal Song with us. Congratulations.